Celebratory
by bravevulnerability
Summary: 'Her body still hums with a kinetic energy, an electricity that begs to surge, be released, but this case has her dignity at stake, thanks to the man peeking over her shoulder between calming breaths. They can't afford to lose and perhaps, if they win, then maybe they really can find a creative way to celebrate.' AU episode insert for 2x02, 'The Double Down'. Three shot. For Alex.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: For the wonderful Alex, who was kind enough to share some brilliant ideas for a fic revolving around this episode with me. I truly hope that you enjoy this one!**

* * *

This is all Castle's fault, as usual, turning their murder case into a stupid bet, one where she might have to _shave her head_ if they lose. Unbelievable. And where is he anyway? It's past nine and he never shows up this late, let alone when a case has him hooked, and, in this scenario, his hair and masculinity are both on the line.

Beckett slows her pacing in front of the murder board and fishes her phone from the pocket of her leather jacket, dials his number with hard stabs of her thumb to the buttons. She chews on her bottom lip as it rings, drifts towards the elevator in the relatively scarce bullpen, still milling with a handful of officers, but not nearly as hectic as it had been recently. At least she could feel relief about that.

"Hey," Castle answers, breathless. "I'm sorry, I'm on my way."

"Where have you been?" she hisses. "Ryan and Esposito just left to go check out a lead."

"Oh no," he whines, the muffled blare of a car horn disappearing, the sounds of the city with it, and a chime of elevator doors echoing through the phone. "I was busy apologizing to Alexis for the male race. How long ago did they leave?"

"Maybe half an hour," she sighs, coming to a halt in front of the lift. "Where are you now?"

"I'm in the elevator right… now," Castle finishes, lowering the phone from his ear as the doors part to reveal his anxious expression. "What about us? No break?"

"No," she huffs, turning on her heel and striding back towards her desk, the useless murder board she's been staring at for two hours straight.

"How long have you been here, Beckett?" he inquires from behind her, peering at the board that hasn't changed since he was here last night, glancing down to the empty cup of coffee on her desk. "Hey, don't let this stress you out, we'll-"

"Castle, we are going nowhere on this case while the competition is hot on the trail of a lead as we speak and I am _not_ shaving my head-"

"Okay, okay," he placates, lifting supplicating hands in hopes of calming her. "You will not shave your head, don't worry."

Beckett scoffs and reaches for one of the Expo markers on the board, itching to write more facts, a new theory, _something_ , but when she places the tip of the black marker to the whiteboard, the color stains grey and fading.

"This is all your fault," she mutters, tossing the marker into the trash and striding for the hallway on the opposite side of the floor, listening to Castle stumble after her with a huff of indignation. "Betting on murder cases, ringing the whole precinct into it."

"Hey," he interjects from her back, trotting after her down the empty hallway, towards the seldom-used supply closet where she knows a new pack of markers sits on the middle shelf. "Excuse me if I'm wrong, but I don't recall anyone _forcing_ you to take part in this."

"Peer pressure," she replies, stepping inside the cramped room, a sliver of tension coiling around her spine when she feels Castle follow her in. This room is way too small for two people, especially when those two people were them.

" _Peer pressure_?" he echoes in disbelief and the corner of her mouth quirks at that. It was always amusing to push his buttons, throw him off balance, a little payback for how often he does the same to her. "As if I could ever pressure you into anything."

Beckett sifts through the office supplies, staples and paperclips, unopened packs of pencils and pens, and she could have sworn she knew where the markers were. Castle so close to her back is just… distracting her.

"Well, the pressure's definitely on now regardless," she mumbles, shoving a paper tray out of her way, stretching on her tiptoes to peer along the next shelf.

"See, that's your problem, Beckett. You need to relax, give your brain a break," Castle muses, and she insists to herself that she's imagining the building heat of his body growing closer.

"My brain wouldn't need a break if it weren't for you," she growls, dropping back down to the balls of her feet and turning to face him with a glare that has his adam's apple bobbing with a thick swallow.

He's not wrong, though. She craves a break, craves for her brain to be encompassed in a blissful blanket of nothingness, for the tension that laces through her shoulders, the pressure that pounds through her skull to be eradicated. And it's a bad idea, possibly the worst she's ever had, but standing in a room, inches away from a man who drives her absolutely crazy on a daily basis, has her wishing it wasn't.

And Castle notices.

"Beckett," he murmurs, his voice dark, rich, and she watches him reach behind him, his fingers snagging on the handle of the door, and drawing it inwards. The click of the door closing, the sound of being effectively trapped in a supply closet with him blocking her only exit, is deafening. "What else can I pressure you into?"

"Castle," she warns, standing her ground even as he takes a step closer, toe to toe with her now. His eyes are alight with challenge, that same kind of burn she's seen ignited since she joined the bet – crackling determination that matches hers, adds fuel to the fire already burning through her veins.

She's just so irritated, frustrated over this stupid case, and he's not exactly helping. But it _is_ the first time he's felt like something more than an annoying tagalong, like something akin to a true teammate she can count on. A partner.

She doesn't want to ruin that, not when it's still so new and tentative, not when she's still recovering from the wounds he'd inflicted months ago by reopening her mother's case, but his eyes are growing darker, midnight pools that reflect the desire she feels stirring in the pit of her stomach.

"I could help you de-stress?" he suggests, his gaze flickering to her mouth, lingering.

She loses her nerve, stumbles a little as she backs into the wall of shelves. Castle doesn't follow, leaves the decision up to her, and her eyes mimic the fall of his gaze without her consent in that moment of stillness, tripping down to his mouth and caressing the seam of his lips, the smirking edge of his smile that she wants to scrape away with her teeth.

"I hate you," she mutters, and that's all the incentive Richard Castle needs to eliminate the single step of distance between them, to take her face in his hands and cradle her cheeks as his mouth descends to devour hers.

Kate moans, doesn't even try to contain it, her body arching into the broad wall of his chest without hesitation, like they've done this before, her fingers snagging in the sides of his shirt to yank him closer while Castle's tangle in her hair.

Energy explodes through her system, a white-hot sensation that's been building for months now, since she had dragged him into her interrogation room for the first time, a spark that had been smothered over the summer they spent apart, overwhelmed by the stab in her back his betrayal had left. It reignites with fierce intensity now as his hips cant into the pull of her hands, pinning hers to a shelf of pristine printer paper.

Her mouth opens on a gasp, panting for oxygen even as her head spins, tilting back against the wall to allow Castle a clear path to the column of her throat. His hands aid her in shrugging the leather jacket from her frame before they glide down her back, his palms applying glorious hints of pressure along the edges of her curved spine, and hook at her hips, encouraging the roll of her body as his thigh slides between her legs.

"Fuck, Castle," she mewls, her fingers tunneling through his hair, nails scoring his scalp when he opens his mouth at her clavicle, rakes his teeth along the sharp ridge of bone.

"Not in the supply closet," he breathes, his nose nudging her shirt out of the way, his lips trailing along the slopes of her breasts, but there's too much fabric obstructing the work of his mouth.

She wants to help, but she's useless, really, her fingers unwilling to release from the locks of his hair, the burn between her legs where the hard muscles of his thigh contract blinding her with sparks of sizzling white spots through her vision.

He's shifting, though, releasing her hips to tug her shirt up her torso, bending awkwardly to reach the taut planes of her stomach with his mouth. She momentarily loses the wonderful pressure against her core as he backs up, but she gains the hot strokes of his tongue to her abdomen, the nip of his teeth traveling up to her diaphragm, scraping over her navel and along the rungs of her ribs.

"Rick," she gasps, biting hard on her bottom lip, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. She never uses his first name and it sounds so wrong to speak it breathlessly in a supply closet while he's got her shirt halfway off and his hands on her breasts.

His fingers frame the cups of her bra, simple black cotton with a lace trim that he brushes with his thumbs, and she's so lost in the roam of his hands, the heat of his mouth, that she almost forgets why she had been resisting him all this time in the first place.

"We don't have time for this," she chokes out, horrified at the sound of her own voice, how utterly _undone_ he has her.

There's always been electricity between them and she had never questioned whether or not they would excel in a physical connection, but this was almost too much, becoming more than a hasty makeout session in a supply closet.

Castle growls, a noise she's never heard him make, a noise that has her hips bucking as he palms her left breast, slides his other hand beneath her bra to squeeze her flesh, tend to the straining peak of her nipple with the circle of his thumb.

"Relax. Whole point of this is for you to relax," he murmurs, traveling back up the line of her neck, suckling at the skin that throbs with the reverberations of her rioting pulse, and she tugs hard on his hair.

"Don't you dare leave a mark," she rasps, rocking forward into the cradle of his hips, feeling the straining evidence of his own reaction, a whimper caught between her teeth at the hard press of his thumb to the tip of her breast at the contact.

"So bossy," he huffs, but his lips are curled at the hinge of her jaw, and Kate turns her head, captures his bottom lip between her teeth.

She plucks the control from him with each nip of her teeth, every brush of her tongue along his, and Castle pulls her body forward, seals her flush against him and drags his hands down her bare sides to fit his palms to the curve of her ass. Her breath catches at the guide of his hands, aiding the rhythm of her hips, the grind of her lower body against his, and she's so close, so blissfully close-

"Do _not_ answer that," Castle mumbles into her mouth, the phone she had tucked into the front pocket of her jeans vibrating relentlessly between them, just like the need inhabiting her bones, spilling through her abdomen. "Beckett, no-"

Kate closes her eyes and tries to breath, tries to tame the rapid rise and fall of her chest, and maneuvers her hand between them.

"I have to, could be about the case."

" _Kate_ ," he whines and she resists the amusement that almost breaches her arousal and claims her lips, brushes her knuckles along the seam of his slacks to shut him up before she retrieves her phone instead.

"Hey Lanie," she answers on a sigh, listening to the M.E inform her about the forensics report, how she had found something. Something that may help them solve the case and win the bet. "Yeah, okay, we'll be right there."

Beckett ends the call and pushes on Castle's chest with her hand, smirks as he shuffles backwards with a disgruntled pout, shifting uncomfortably in front of her.

"Lanie's got something," she informs him, hoping that somehow, they can just go back to normal, proceed through the rest of the day as if this had never happened.

Somehow, she doubts it could ever be that easy though, not with him.

"I heard," he mutters, reaching over her head and presenting her with the pack of markers she had been searching for. "I didn't see them until I had you pressed up against the shelves," he defends when she pins him with a glare and she huffs, plucks the markers from his grasp, starts for the door, but Castle snags her elbow.

"Castle, we have to-"

He fists one of his hands in her hair, holds her steady as he smudges a hard, unforgiving kiss to her mouth that has her body rising into him like a puppet on a string.

"We're not done with this, Beckett," he states and she arches an eyebrow before her eyes can even flutter open, intrigued by the side of this man that could hold power over her, that she finds she doesn't mind sharing the reins of control with quite so much.

"We're not?"

"No way," he huffs, releasing her to grab her jacket from the floor while she straightens her shirt, dusting it off before he hands it to her. "You're obviously still under copious amounts of stress that I can assist with. So, let's go win the bet, and then we can celebrate."

"You're rather presumptuous if you think _that's_ how I intend to celebrate our impending victory," she muses, combing her fingers through her hair, smoothing down the locks disrupted by his fingers while he does the same.

Castle places a hand to his chest and stares back at her in feigned shock. "I never said that was the celebratory plan, but if that's what you want-"

"Shut up, Castle," she huffs, biting back a chuckle and curling her fingers around the door handle, easing the door open to check the hallway.

Still empty. They weren't gone long, a few minutes max, even though it felt like far longer. _Like seven minutes in heaven_ , her mind supplies, and she purses her lips to repress a groan at the childish thought.

Her body still hums with a kinetic energy, an electricity that begs to surge, be released, but this case has her dignity at stake, thanks to the man peeking over her shoulder between calming breaths. They can't afford to lose and perhaps, if they win, then maybe they really can find a creative way to celebrate.

Hopefully somewhere other than a supply closet.

"On second thought," Beckett murmurs, already slipping out the door. "We'll see.


	2. Chapter 2

Castle is a comfortable source of warmth beside her, joining her to stare up at the murder board, searching for answers that just aren't there yet.

"Are you okay?"

Beckett doesn't turn her head, but her lips remain in the small smile he had evoked with his mention of his mother and daughter, his musings about Kevin Bacon movies. "Yeah. It's just this one reminds me of my mom's case."

She almost regrets the admission, but she continues on, too late to rescind the words now anyway. As long as she doesn't look at him, doesn't allow herself more than the glimpse she steals through the corner of her eye to witness the expression of a heartbroken little boy suddenly emerging through his features, the man beneath the charming playboy, the man who _almost_ makes her want him.

Like she had wanted him yesterday in the supply closet, her blood enflamed and her heart hammering hard enough to break through her chest at the press of his body up against hers. She's smothered the flame of longing since then, placed her focus solely on the case, but it returns now, gentler, a soft caress of heat through her system for the man she could want.

"I guess you could say what does it matter? The person you love is dead, but knowing _why_ matters."

His outrage over the grammar mistakes on Ashley Cosway's dead body had been driving her nuts for the last three days, since the case began, his betting over a murder victim that the entire precinct has taken part in still incredulous (even though she had caved and ended up playing along), but it's understanding that burns in his eyes after she lets those words slip free. It surprises her, though, when he doesn't push, doesn't attempt to placate her with apologies or words of comfort.

His lips part, as if he's about to speak and she shifts forward, curious for what he has to say, but Esposito and Ryan are striding up to her desk, breaking the rare moment between them, and forcing their attentions back on the murder board. But Castle doesn't stop shooting concerned glances her way, even after he breaks their case wide open.

* * *

They part ways with Ryan and Esposito after a round of drinks at their normal post case hangout. Castle had been ecstatic to be sitting at the back of the bar in their favorite booth again, banned after looking into her mother's case, alienated from it all, and she'd found his smile to be contagious, catching on her lips every time he turned his eyes to her.

"Part of me wishes we had lost," he muses, walking with her down the street towards Tribeca.

Montgomery had given their team the rest of the evening off, all paperwork regarding the solved case postponed for tomorrow morning, and it's the first time in what has to be years that she isn't itching to return, camp out at her desk for the rest of the night. She's enjoying Castle's company too much. Way too much.

"Oh?" Beckett replies with an arch of her brow. "Hoping to sport matching hairstyles tomorrow?"

He grins at her, that twinkle in his eyes that always ignites when she jokes around with him, the pleased delight. "The shaving of my head would have been unfortunate, but I really wouldn't have minded seeing you in a dress."

Her heart stutters, skips, and she shakes her head, at him or herself, she isn't sure.

"Of course not," she chuckles, slipping her hands into the pockets of her coat.

"I still could, you know."

The smile on her lips wavers as she glances to her side, assesses the blossoming hope gleaming in his eyes, and she has no idea what he's hoping for, but it has dread coiling like a spring, tight and uncomfortable in her stomach.

"Meaning?"

Castle slows to a stop before they can reach the next crosswalk, standing off to the side with her near a string of shops and boutiques.

"We could go to dinner, celebrate like the true winners we are without the two wannabes," he chirps, a teasing grin tugging on his lips, but she can hardly move past the first half of his sentence.

"Listen, Rick," she sighs, stepping in closer and lowering her voice, prepared to let him down easy, but Castle lifts a hand between them before she can.

"I know what you're about to say and it's unnecessary," he states and she rolls her eyes.

"Oh do you?"

"Look, this doesn't have to be a date," he murmurs, but his hand drifts forward, the tips of his fingers flirting with hers. "And it has nothing to do with what happened yesterday in the supply closet-"

" _Castle_ ," she hisses, pinching the bridge of her nose with her thumb and index finger as her cheeks flare hot, but he merely laughs at her, soft and amused and infuriating.

"We don't ever have to speak of that again if you don't want to. I'm just innocently asking my friend to an innocent dinner to innocently celebrate our victory over Ryan and Esposito."

She should say no, needs to say no. If what happened yesterday is any indication, her self-control has become compromised and she needs time to regroup, build her discipline back up before more mistakes can be made. Because that is what their time in the supply closet had been – a massive mistake that _cannot_ be repeated, that they will never again speak of.

"Don't look so conflicted," Castle jokes, but the corners of his mouth are no longer in an easy smile, the curve of his lips straining to stay upturned as he attempts to reassure her. "Really, Kate, you can say no. There's no obligation to-"

"Okay," she blurts, and – damn him for calling her by her first name, her resolve washed away by the single syllable in his mouth. "Did you already have a place in mind?"

Castle flounders for a moment, the surprise in his eyes at her acceptance evident, but he recovers quickly, shoots her a pleased grin that soothes some of her horror.

"I always have a place, just depends on what you're in the mood for, Detective."

This was such a bad idea, but those seem to be her specialty lately.

* * *

They have dinner at a Thai restaurant not far from her apartment, a charming little establishment that has excellent service and divine dishes, but is still casual enough for her not to feel out of place in her work clothes.

He's different outside of the precinct, something she had caught glimpses of in the past, but it's far more prominent now as he sits across from her at a tiny table, their knees bumping on occasion and his hand always just in reach of hers atop the surface, tempting her with the tap of his fingers next to his glass of water.

They discuss the case, share quiet laughs about how ridiculous it had been, competing over homicides with the boys, and eventually shift into soft conversation about his mother and daughter once more, Alexis's boy troubles and Martha's uncertain Broadway career. It continues to surprise her how real he can be, the exact opposite of the man in magazines and articles in Page Six, the adoring father and son, the kind man who could draw genuine smiles to her lips that she had given up on trying to control hardly halfway through dinner.

She can't remember the last time someone had possessed that ability with such ease.

"Well, Detective Beckett," Castle announces once he's paid the bill without her approval ( _It's the least I can do when dinner was my idea to begin with, Beckett, calm down_ ) and they're on their way out of the restaurant. "I guess this is where we part ways."

Kate bites on her lip as they return to the same predicament they had left the bar in only two hours earlier, drifting down the sidewalk in the general direction of her apartment, unwanted hesitation swirling through her stomach.

"Unless you want to walk with me, come up for coffee at my place?" she suggests, does her best to maintain a neutral expression through the pound of her heart, watching from the corner of her eye as Castle attempts to do the same.

"I - of course, I'd love that," he responds, the smile on his lips grateful, feeding the frenzy of unwelcome butterflies through her abdomen.

And since when does Castle give her butterflies?

* * *

Being inside Kate Beckett's apartment has a swarm of butterflies sweeping through his system, soft caresses of fluttering wings with razored edges dancing along his chest. He has no idea what her plan is here, what she must be thinking inviting him up to her place, but he's content to assess the cozy interior of her home, examine the rows of novels on her bookshelves while she puts on a fresh pot of coffee in her kitchen. To be grateful he's been allowed into her space.

"Stop looking for your books, Castle," she calls from the kitchen that reminds him of a greenhouse, the shine of the city bleeding in through the overhead windows, trickling in to dapple along the pale line of her throat.

She's beautiful like this. At home in her apartment, still dressed in her slacks and button down from work, but with her feet bare and her coat put away, with a teasing grin spreading across her lips. Easy, unworried, comfortable. With him.

He really wishes he could kiss her again. Not like he had in the supply closet, not hard and fast and hot (well, he wants to kiss her like that again _too_ at some point); he wants to walk into her kitchen and corner her against the cabinets, cradle her face in his hands and sip from her mouth, memorize the satin sensation of her lips moving against his, feel her body arch and undulate into his embrace like she had yesterday-

"Castle?"

"Hmm?" He tears his eyes up from the study of her jaw, the sharp angle of bone he still remembers fitting against his lips, redirecting his gaze to her furrowed brow.

"Everything okay?" Beckett inquires, approaching him with two steaming cups of coffee and he quickly constructs a smile for her, accepts the blue mug from her grasp, purposely brushing the tip of his index finger along the slender bone of hers.

"Of course, never better," he assures her, motioning for her to lead the way to the couch, watching her sink into the corner of the furniture with a hum of appreciation that he echoes once he sits down on the opposite end. Still close enough to reach out, touch her if he wanted to, if she let him. "This is a sinfully comfortable couch."

"Glad my furniture meets your standards, Castle," she chuckles, taking a slow sip of her coffee.

"Surpasses them, actually," he remarks, winking back at her before mimicking her, sipping his coffee with his lips curled around the rim of the mug. "I like it here."

Kate is eyeing him from above her coffee cup, assessing him with inquisitive eyes that burn a mixture of gold and brown, a gleaming shade of amber that elicits frissons of familiar heat within the pit of his stomach. His mind wanders back to the supply closet, it never needs much help to end up there, to recall the taste of her skin on his tongue, her mouth, her body so sinuous and alive beneath his hands, rising into him, wanting it just as badly-

" _Castle_ ," she snaps and he startles so harshly, coffee sloshes over the edge of his cup, spills onto the thigh of his pants, and Beckett sighs, shakes her head. "Do you even realize how obvious you are about it?"

"About what?" he mutters, dabbing at the blotch of hot liquid that's now staining his slacks.

"Since we made out yesterday, you're always thinking about it and you're far from subtle."

Castle gasps, comically, using the always reliable route of humor to ease into this conversation, refrain from letting it become serious, spooking her. " I thought we weren't speaking of that again."

"Privacy of my apartment," she shrugs, one of her eyebrows curving with the line of her lips. "And we're not talking about it. I was just making a point."

"Point made, Beckett," he huffs, setting his cup down on the small table housing a lamp at his side. "And you can't tell me it hasn't crossed _your_ mind."

"Mm, maybe once or twice," she muses, toying with him, he knows, but he willingly takes the bait.

" _Once or twice_?" he echoes incredulously. "Liar."

"Am not," she tosses back, playful and childish and Castle takes advantage of this version of Beckett, the one who teases with him, who discusses a forbidden makeout in a closet with a grin flirting along her lips.

"So you're telling me," he begins, scooting closer to her, watching the blank expression of her face hold, the fingers cradling her mug tightening ever so slightly. It isn't noticeable, but he can sense the combination of nerves and anticipation swirling through her as he draws closer. "That you haven't really thought much about all the places I touched yesterday?"

Kate meets his eyes without wavering. "Nope."

"Even the places I touched with my mouth?" Her throat ripples at that, a swallow cascading down the column, and oh yeah, he has her. "Should I refresh your memory, Beckett?"

She doesn't stop him when he liberates her coffee cup from her fingers, releasing the mug without a fight, her empty hands already rising to curl at his ears when he leans in, his chest pressing against her bent knees as he tentatively seals his mouth over hers for the second time in two days.


	3. Chapter 3

His kiss is soft, gentle and exploratory, but she doesn't want that, doesn't want tender, doesn't want delicate grazes of his mouth or sweet strokes of his tongue. She wants fast and fiery, she wants blissful and mindless, she wants to pick up where they had left off before Lanie had interrupted them yesterday.

She can't handle anything else.

Beckett unfurls her legs from their curled position on the sofa and drags Castle in closer by her grip on his ears, sliding her fingers into his hair as his body presses in against hers, nestling between her parted legs and balancing against the arm of the couch. Perfect.

He groans when she arches, trapping her bottom lip between his teeth while her hips rock into the embrace of his.

"Kate," he breathes, his lips whispering along the hollow of her cheek and she closes her eyes, tangles her fingers in his hair and attempts to silence him with the grind of her lower body.

She just wants him to stop talking.

"Thought you wanted to celebrate, Castle?" she murmurs, smirking at the choked sound he releases into her skin, gasping when his hips finally retaliate, jerk forward and pin her to the cushion below.

Familiar sparks sizzle behind her eyes as his mouth travels down to her neck, relearning the sensitive spot behind her ear that has her biting down on her bottom lip, the patch of skin just below her jaw that never fails to evoke a gasp, the rise of her chest into his. But his hands are stroking along her sides, teasing and unsatisfying, and Kate pitches her hips with impatience.

"Castle, come on," she urges, unable to understand why he isn't peeling her shirt off, attending to the flesh that burns beneath, being the talented playboy he so often claims to be.

But when Kate opens her eyes, she finds him staring down at her with eyes that are too blue, too desperate for something that entails more than sex, and it sparks a shiver of fear down her spine that dampens the slick burn of her arousal.

It's too much, too much – she can't – this isn't what she'd brought him here for-

"Take me to your bed," he husks, and oh, that certainly ignites the fire in her veins.

But if she lets him into her bed… allowing him that kind of control, entrance into her personal space, was so much more complicated than making out in a closet or fucking on her sofa. It took things to a more intimate level that she doesn't want, isn't prepared for, not with him, not after what he did.

But then he slants his mouth over hers again, slips his tongue past her lips and glides one of his hands beneath the hem of her shirt, splays his palm over the small of her back, and she grants him acquiescence without even thinking.

She just wants to stop thinking.

* * *

Castle coaxes her body up from the sofa before she can revoke the breathless 'yes' that had escaped while his hands had caressed her skin and his tongue had tended to the roof of her mouth, guides her to her feet and distracts her from the decision with the cup of his palms to her cheeks, lips still working over hers as he walks them backwards in the direction he assumes her bedroom lies.

Her fingers are tripping down the front of his shirt, yanking it from the waistband of his pants and ripping through buttons, sneaking beneath the fabric to paint trails of heat along his skin with her fingertips, and her lips part with a gasp of amusement when they stumble into the frame of a doorway.

"Beckett, where is your room?" he groans, scraping his teeth to the upturned corner of her mouth, swallowing the hum of her moan and relishing in the lace of her arms around his neck.

"If you'd watch where you're going," she breathes, her eyes peeling open to reveal the glittering black pools of her pupils lined with a halo of gold, a striking a shade of lust consuming her gaze that makes him want her even more. Even if the level of desire isn't mutual, even if it'll all be over far too soon and she'll ask him to leave once they're done.

He'll make tonight so good for her that she'll ask him to come back too, that she'll want him again, maybe as much as he wants her. Needs her.

"You'd see it's right behind me," she finishes on a chuckle, stepping backwards and drawing Castle along with her into the room illuminated only by the glow of the moon and streaks of city lights outside her window.

Kate's fingers accomplish their task in ridding him of his shirt, her nails scraping along his skin as she pushes it from his shoulders, and Castle eagerly works to do the same, catching her by the collar of her blouse when the backs of her knees hit the edge of her bed, holding her upright.

He allowed her all of the control the first time in the supply closet, let her take the lead on the couch, but now it's his turn.

* * *

Castle works the buttons of her shirt free with surprising ease despite the subtle shake to his fingers, and she expects him to rid her of her bra next, free her breasts of the simple lingerie and nudge her down onto the bed, drive her crazy with his mouth until she's on the verge of explosion. But after her shirt has slid free from her arms and she's left in only her bra, Castle trails his lips down the line of her sternum, lingering in the spot between her breasts, swirling over the strip of smooth flesh with his tongue before he travels lower, painting her skin with open mouthed kisses that have her knees wavering.

Once he reaches the waistband of her slacks, Castle's knees are on her floor, his teeth nipping along the sensitive flesh of her lower abdomen as he unbuttons her pants, draws the zipper down, and allows the fabric to slip down her legs, land with a whisper around her ankles.

And looking down to the sight of him kneeling in front of her with his thumbs hooking in the lace edges of her underwear, his eyes a shade of midnight she's never seen before and staring up at her as he peels the panties from her skin is arguably the hottest thing she's ever witnessed.

Until he settles his hands at her hips and touches his mouth to her core.

* * *

The sounds she makes when he brushes his lips to her clit, strokes his tongue over her, are the most erotic he's ever heard, the moan of his name guttural, dripping with need, and he's barely even had the chance to truly touch her.

Her legs tremble against his arms, her fingers in his hair again, nails raking along his scalp as he dips his tongue deeper into the pool of her arousal, hears her gasp and curse and suddenly it's not enough for either of them. Not enough to soothe the ache, the all consuming desperation that's existed since yesterday morning.

"Castle, _please-_ "

* * *

Her vision is already going blurry as Castle coaxes her backwards, onto the bed until the firm surface of her mattress is beneath her body, but it nearly goes blinding white the second he joins her, his head between her thighs and his mouth sucking while his fingers slip inside her. God, it's been so long since she's been touched by someone, by hands that weren't her own, and it feels so good, even better that it's _him_ and that he's as talented as she's always imagined. But she wants more, she wants him, wants to feel everything-

He pulls away just before she can fall over the edge, be swept away in the cresting wave of an orgasm just out of reach, and Kate immediately lunges for his mouth once he's crawled up the length of her body, hums at the taste of herself on his tongue before she pitches the weight of her body forward to roll them over. She pins him to the mattress and swallow his pleased gasp of surprise with a grin, straddling his hips and grinding down hard into the solid bulge of him beneath her, staining the front of his slacks.

Castle's hands bruise at the backs of her thighs, his fingers fanning out to feather along the curve of her ass. "Fuck, Kate-"

"Why aren't your pants off?" she breathes, her forehead crashing into his as they both struggle to suck air into their lungs, Castle's chest straining and ragged beneath hers.

"Got distracted," he chokes out, one of his hands squeezing the taut muscle of her ass, earning a harsh undulation of her hips that has them both choking on moans.

"Time to focus," she mumbles, smudging her smirk to his mouth while she maneuvers a hand between them, works the buckle of his belt free, his zipper down, until she can ease her hand inside, through the slit in his boxers.

His entire body arcs at the curl of her fingers around him, the gentle stroke of her palm, but Castle catches her wrist before she can truly work him up more than she already has, tries to breathe past the effects of her touch while anticipation bubbles through her bloodstream.

Rick shimmies his pants down his legs, his boxers too, and Kate rises on her knees, reaches behind her for the clasp of her bra, unhooking the strips of fabric until they fall limp and she can slide the cotton and lace down her arms, exposed to him in the moonlit darkness of her bedroom.

* * *

She's blissfully naked above him and he can barely breathe.

Castle flips them back to their original position, stealing the smirk from her lips with the palm of his hand to her breast, the circle of his thumb to her nipple, evoking that same shudder of pleasure from her frame that he remembers from yesterday. The distinct taste of her is still sharp on his tongue, the waves of heat each brush of their skins sparks all consuming, and Rick sinks into the cradle of her thighs when her legs twine around his waist, welcome him in and drag his hips down to collide with hers.

"Okay?" he checks before he can go any further, the length of him grazing the moist heat of her center, causing those breathless mewling noises to fall free from her lips as she nods, wraps her arms around his neck and chants quiet encouragements that do little to ease the wild need to thrust inside her, lose the control he fights so hard to maintain.

"Yeah, yeah, just - fuck, just please-"

He eases into her slowly, grits his teeth to maintain what little semblance of restraint he has left as the tight channel of her body embraces him, stretches to accommodate him, until he's buried deep and Kate is panting against his cheek.

He wants this to last, wants bury himself in this moment, but all he can do is smear a kiss to her mouth before he pulls back at a painstaking pace, glides back in and the gasp of his name on her lips begins to unravel him.

* * *

She's choking on sobs that she smothers in the skin of his shoulder, trying to breathe past the intense waves of pleasure crashing over them both with every thrust, every beat of this rhythm they've created – slow and deep and hard, and _fuck_ , how does he know how to undo her so easily, just where to touch and when to hasten his pace, meet the swivel of her hips with the grind of his own, already matching her as if this isn't the first time he's had her.

Kate claws at his back, white-hot crackles of electricity bursting through every part of her, intensifying at the sudden, sweet burn of wet heat at her breast, the swirl of his tongue and the nip of his teeth.

"Castle," she mewls, her spine arching sharply, her entire body on the razor's edge of release, her legs squeezing tightly at his waist, trying to draw him deeper, harder. "More, Rick, just-"

The infinite control, the patience he's possessed from the moment they stumbled into her bedroom, finally snaps, his teeth scraping at the slope of her breast, her bottom lip, before his nose is nudging at her cheek while his hips drive into hers, reach that spot so deep inside of her that has her crying out, shattering apart, letting go.

* * *

Her entire body seizes around him, clutches hard, and he follows her over the edge, falls apart on top of her even as he does his best not to crush her. But Kate doesn't seem to mind, her arms still secure around his neck, her face pressed in close against his jaw and the heat of her breath staining his skin.

Rick sighs out against her temple, so wonderfully blissed out as he lies in bed with Kate Beckett after an incredible – no, could he call it extraordinary? Would that be too cheesy? Because holy hell sex with Kate was far more than ordinary and this was the first time he felt wholly out of his element in a woman's bed – round of sex. He had memorized as much as he could, the noises she couldn't bite back, the map of her body and every valley and ridge that caused the bow of her spine to snap, the look on her face when she had finally let go.

"Fuck, you're beautiful when you come," he rasps out, feeling Kate's lashes flutter against his cheek and – and Castle immediately tenses as he realizes what he just said to her _out loud_.

He prepares for her to stiffen beneath him, to push him away and attempt a gentle form of rejection before she kicks him out of her bed, but her limbs remain loose, her skin warm and lithe beneath him, her heartbeat slowing rather than picking up again beneath the seal of his chest.

Her legs unfurl at his back, but her arms remain around his neck, her nose grazing his cheek when her head turns, her lips dusting over his before she claims his mouth in a kiss, languid and slow, sated.

"Yeah? Well, maybe you can see it again," she husks, smirking against his lips, but Castle can only stare back at her, wide eyed in the darkness. "What's the matter, Castle? Can't handle it?"

Rick sputters. "I can most definitely handle it. I just-"

"Just what?" she prompts, one of her eyebrows curving high in challenge, and in any other occasion, he wouldn't tempt fate, wouldn't risk losing the privilege of his current position, but if Kate Beckett wants honesty, he'll give it to her.

Even if she regrets asking for it.

"I missed you," he states, a little too matter-of-factly, but doing his best to hold this conversation away from the steep edge of seriousness. "Over the summer. I - I know I messed up, looking into your mom's case like that, and I don't want it to happen again."

"You apologized. Stay true to that apology and I can't see that happening," she replies, but Castle shakes his head, props up on an elbow to stare down at her.

"More than that. I don't want this to - to scare you off."

"Do I look scared to you?" she inquires, the corner of her mouth curling, but there's definite apprehension hiding in the depths of her eyes beneath the haze of sex and flickers of amusement.

A little scared, but not totally terrified. Pretty much where he finds himself in this complicated equation they've become as well.

He could work with this.

"Look, Castle, I – I'm not going to make you any promises and I don't know where this could even go, but I don't want to overthink it."

"Okay," he concedes, thoughtlessly brushing her bangs from her forehead, withdrawing his hand and shifting to place a little more distance between them when she chews on her bottom lip. "So, what if we just try things out? Test the waters, see where it goes without any pressure. Because I definitely don't want this to stop anytime soon."

Kate pushes up on her elbows, nudges him off of her and onto his back. For a moment, he's afraid she's about to tell him to go, that he asked for too much, but Beckett doesn't look upset, doesn't appear closed off. She looks… thoughtful, intrigued.

"Okay," she repeats, following the roll of his body and lifting to her knees, reclaiming her place astride his hips, the spark of fear in her eyes smothered, lust and approval creating a lovely blend of black and gold in her gaze. "No pressure."

Relief cascades through his chest, but he ignores it, ignores just how hopeful the idea of Beckett agreeing to pursue anything with him actually has him feeling. Sure, she probably thinks she's in for an easy, friends with benefit style relationship here, but he has no worries about that. It'll take some time, but he's a patient man.

"See, Beckett, we make such a good team in all areas of life," he muses, watching her eyes roll while his lazily roam the gorgeous expanse of her frame on display before him, the spill of moonlight along one of her shoulders, kissing the hard edge of her cheekbone. "Oh, and does this mean I get to take you out and see you in a dress after all?"

"Castle," she huffs, but the edges of her lips are upturned, the rare sparkle in her eyes illuminating her face, and Rick curls his palms at the sharp points of her hipbones, welcomes the descent of her body when she bows over him to capture his mouth. "Just shut up and finish celebrating with me."


End file.
